


Once Upon A February

by Elinie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Gen, Healer Draco Malfoy, Healer Hermione Granger, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, St Mungo's Hospital
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:40:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25711492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elinie/pseuds/Elinie
Summary: April taught us to rejoice and laugh, May - to love. January taught how to start a new life, and February taught us how to wait... Once upon a February a withdrawn patient of St. Mungo's met a stubborn Healer with warm eyes and a soothing voice.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 18
Kudos: 69





	1. Chapter 1

Hermione Granger, a talented healer of the St. Mungo's Dark Curse Ward, rubbed her sore eyes, stretched, sighed, and dug back into the sparkling charts, convoluted graphs and lists of potion ingredients whose potential value were close to zero. In the east, chilly wrapping itself in ragged clouds, the sun was rising, ready, if anything, to dive into the nearest cloud and sleep there until evening.

  
Hermione followed it with an envious glance and returned to her calculations, passionately dreaming of a cup of coffee and gingerbread. Box of gingerbread, it seemed, stayed hidden in her table since last weekend, when her next date did not go according to plan and at the end of the evening she simply ran away from her unfortunate boyfriend. And then she ate ice cream, washed it down with a cup of cocoa and complained to Crookshanks about her cruel fate.

  
Five years have passed since the war. Hermione received the title of Master of Arithmancy at the French Sorbonne, a faculty for gifted wizards and sorceresses, where she went immediately after graduating from Hogwarts. As it turned out, not only she was seduced by France with its more progressive views on magic and life. Racking her head over the connection between Arithmancy and Potion Making, Hermione somehow wandered into the city archives, the Forbidden Section for Magicians, and came across Draco there.

  
The Great Battle and its consequences somehow immediately wiped off the difference between the status of blood, which suddenly became of little interest to the heroes who had lost their relatives and friends, past feuds and stupid prejudices. Draco, by a strange mockery of fate, acquired the gift of Divination and after graduating from Hogwarts left for the same Sorbonne to study the Predictions from the famous prophet throughout France - Monsieur Julien, rumored to be a descendant of Nostradamus himself. Sybill Trelawney was overjoyed.

  
In reality, Draco fled from himself: Lucius was released from Azkaban and with every passing day he grew more and more depressed, wandering like a shadow in the garden planted around the family estate, he was frightening Narcissa with incoherent cries about the dementors and atrocities of Voldemort, and keep calling for Snape. Few people were interested in the affairs of the acquitted Death Eaters, so Draco, tormented by ministerial campaigners, clawed the permission to cross the borders for his parents and took them with him to France, where he intended to finish his studies. Time passed, the magical healers threw up their hands, the Muggle psychiatrists, of course, would immediately have put Lucius in the ward for the violently insane, if he tried to tell them about charms, wands and dark curses, so, another way was needed.

  
Once again getting completely confused with her calculations, Hermione hurried to one place that always gave her peace of mind - to the library, in which, by chance, the archive was found, and stumbled there upon Draco. Over the last year at Hogwarts, they managed to establish some resemblance of truce - yesterday's children who had gone through the war and torture had nothing argue about anymore, and sometimes Hermione often sat up with boys and girls from other faculties, in whose eyes she read the same despair that she saw in the mirror every morning. She knew that Draco was eager to help his parents, which is why he was now studying for the stupid title of Master of Divination: there were many specialists at the Sorbonne, including professors of the Dark Arts, and this greatly facilitated the task. And Divination, well, maybe their future will one day not be as hopeless as it seemed now. It was nice to predict what tomorrow holds from time to time.

  
They exchanged a few words, remembered the past year, gossiped about the latest rumors and, without further ado, turned their conversation to the professors who once caused their current wandering around the world: Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape became the link that united irreconcilable enemies from two faculties: the loss of Heads of the Houses made the children friends, having done what no one had been able to do for two hundred years.

  
In the midst of the battle, ignoring the Lord's whims to appear on demand, Severus Snape instead gathered the children from the second and first years and took them with him, intending to hide them in the Dungeons. There the Death Eaters overtook him. They did not have time to understand who was on whose side, they thirsted for the blood of Voldemort's most faithful spy, who too often took a tidbit from under their noses.

  
Green and orange flashes were hovering over the heads of the frightened little ones, the Dungeons were full of screams and obscene language, it seemed that one of the Death Eaters used Fyendfire, Severus was pressed against the wall, with terrified children behind his back, until at a critical moment Minerva appeared at the stairs, leading a horde of Hufflepuffs for the same goal as Professor Snape. The Gryffindor lioness decided to find out the true loyalties of the most hated Headmaster of Hogwarts later and rushed to his rescue instead. In the end, they both protected the children, not dividing them into Gryffindor and Slytherin, into noble and Mudbloods... Many hours and eighteen killed Death Eaters later, the snotty and dirty kids led Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger and Lavander Brown to the rubble and told them that the professors were hiding there somewhere and needed their help.

  
The professors were redirected to St. Mungo, Flitwick and Pomona Sprout took over the management of the school, and Lavander Brown, the main fashionista of Hogwarts and the universally recognized Gryffindor fool, became determined to learn Healing. Later, she secretly confessed to Hermione and Draco that she often saw nightmares of bloodied Professors and a bunch of frightened children around them.

  
Five years passed, Lavender, Draco and Hermione have long received their titles of Masters, Hogwarts was rebuilt, educational reforms were muddled through, making it possible to stop sorting children into faculties as zealously as before, but neither Minerva nor Severus left the hospital. The depleted magic reserve, Hellfire and the cheerful mixture of dark curses did their job to them, the magical coma was replaced by weakness, weakness was replaced by depression, and depression was followed by indifference. Minerva, at least, continued to fight, not for her own sake, but, at least for the sake of the children, still waiting for the return of their beloved Head, Snape unlike her completely withdrew into himself, and stopped reacting to anything.

  
"I got an owl from Lavender, she invites us to London, says that she is frightened to do her new project alone,'' Draco began awkwardly, after Hermione once again complained about the never-ending mess in the Wizarding World and told Draco that her parents decided to stay in Australia, they were quite happy and were telling her to stop doing nonsense and come to them for chasing kangaroos and drinking cocktails.

  
"I can't believe Lavender is serious about her mind," Hermione shook her head.

  
"Unlike us," Draco snorted. "While she is there preparing to save the world, you and I are wasting time and energy on a degree that no one needs, so what this Arithmancy has given you, Granger?"

  
"I want to investigate the connection between Arithmancy and Potions, but what are you doing with your Divination, Draco?"

  
“I can tell you how your date with that pimply guy who has been staring at you for forty minutes will end."

  
"Thank you, I will refrain. But truthfully, Draco?"

  
"Truthfully, I want to help my father, and you, Granger, who are you kidding? If you hammered something into your head, then even the apocalypse will not stop you."

  
"Professor McGonagall gave me a lot, she was able to turn a boring girl with bushy mane hair into what I am now."

  
“Not that you become any less boring,” Draco smiled radiantly and received a hit on the back of the head with a book from Hermione. "I understand what you mean, I feel so bad without my godfather, he would definitely be amused by my Divination. And the father is constantly looking for him. It's hard to watch."

  
“We must go home, Malfoy. Both of us."

  
The next month, Madame Pomfrey looked in surprise at the timidly smiling trio of newly-made friends, whispered about something with a portrait of Dylis Derwent, ran to Madame Sprout and a couple of weeks later Miriam Sprout, Pomona's niece, the leading healer of St. Mungo's, took the guys for the Healer's Apprenticeship.

  
Two years later, the friends received their second Master's degree. Draco worked with mental disorders, Lavender took over obstetrics and care for children, and Hermione, of course, chose dark curses and their consequences.

  
And now she was trying in vain to figure out how to increase the dose of belladonna in the Calming Draught and not kill the patient in the process, and Draco whined right above her ear, intending to pull the stubborn know-it-all out for a lunch.

  
“Granger, Lavender will kill us now, if we don’t try her signature lasagna, so get your chic front off the stool and let's get out of here."

  
"Wait for a bit."

  
"You said that half an hour ago, nothing will change, I am telling you this as a fortune-teller." 

  
"February is coming, I need to improve the Calming Draught on time, you know."

  
Draco knew. In winter, many patients experienced exacerbation of their ailments, but Professor Snape reacted particularly sharply to the coldest month of winter. Draco suspected that February was associated with many key moments in Snape's life, one way or another connected with his time of serving to Voldemort, the subconscious in this way tried to save the disturbed psyche from old traumas. And Granger worked day and night to keep her patients from unnecessary shock.

  
Draco knew firsthand that no one could stand between a Gryffindor swot and her stubbornness, and for some time now Severus Snape became Hermione's personal project.

-The end of the first chapter-


	2. Chapter 2

The gloomy February afternoon was rapidly turning into chilly February twilight. The gray landscape that could be seen from the windows of St. Mungo's would hardly contribute to the rapid recovery of patients if they could notice at least something other than the sterile white walls, flickering diagrams and the lemon mantle of the Healer, whose care they were once entrusted with. Some years ago after the end of the war. The First Magic War, the Second Magic War, the failed Auror's raid, the accidental curse, so many wars, so many lost fights, it all made too little sense right now. The healers had to deal with the aftermath of the disease, the cause of the disease could go hang.

  
Draco Malfoy checked the graph, corrected the curved line in the center, noted the time, stirred up the potion in the vial, turned his gaze to the window, behind which the gloomy winter slush was spoiling his mood just marvelously, he shook his head, straightened up and finally smiled at his patient.

  
“How many times have you woken up during the night, Professor McGonagall?

  
“I slept like a dead,” McGonagall smiled awkwardly. “Call me Minerva, boy."

  
"What are you talking about, professor! In a very short time, you will replace Professor Sprout as Hogwarts Headmistress and once again you will be inspiring fear in naive first-years."

  
“Well, it's not that I'm calling you Healer Malfoy."

  
"That's due to the fact, that after what we all went through, I will forever remain for you Draco - where-are-you-going-you-obnoxious-boy,'' Draco grinned, measuring exactly five drops of Hermione's improved soothing tincture into a glass.

  
"Well, Draco, it was stupid to rush at the Death Eaters, headlong and not looking around, as you once did," Minerva pursed her lips, remembering the past.

  
“What else could I do, everything was on fire, plaster was falling on our heads, and Granger and I just had to dig you out, at any cost. And someone else needed to insure the kids and watch the Death Eaters." Draco replied, shrugging.

  
"Yes... If not for Severus."

  
"He'll make it out, Professor, you know Granger, since she's tackling something, you can't get rid of her,'' Draco tried to calm Minerva, holding the professor's hands in his own for a moment and smiling as naively as possible.

  
Of course, one could tell McGonagall a white lie as much as he wanted, but Minerva, who had seen Hell in her life and came alive from it, saw through and through without any gift of foresight. She went through three wars, commanded the Order of the Phoenix and, of course, knew her students better than they ever could know themselves, so she did not need unfounded assurances of well-being.

When the world collapsed around them, when the Death Eaters imprisoned the fighters in a continuous ring, and the roof threatened to fall on their heads at any second, Hermione, Draco and Lavender Brown burst into the hall, rushing to help. The children were right: the professors were hiding somewhere under the rubble, trying to repel the attack, save the innocent and cope with their own wounds. Darkness flickered around them, a bright spiral was trying to break through the protective spell set up by Snape, the Death Eaters were advancing, Minerva fought like a lioness, she always were.

  
The moment the shield burst, exploding in a spray like a bright soap bubble, Snape dashed across the spells, shouting for everyone to leave the danger zone. The motley mixture of curses that hit him turned out to be not enough: at the very last moment the roof collapsed from above, almost swallowing up both enemies and friends under it. Hermione managed to stop the wreckage, but the time was hopelessly lost: the professors almost depleted their own magical reserves, received a concussion and many physical injuries, not counting PTSD, insomnia, nervous disorders and depression.

  
McGonagall recovered quickly enough: the strict Head of Gryffindor could not be broken easily by a roof that fell on her head, and her stubborn distrust of the leadership qualities of Flitwick and Pomona made her stand up and patiently undergo rehabilitation under the supervision of Draco and Hermione. With Snape, the situation was completely different: having almost lost his magic, he seemed to have lost his very personality, as if he was reliving the past over and over again, as if he was walking in the darkness and saw no way out. Physical indicators returned to normal, but his consciousness was inaccessible, he sat by the window day and night and did not notice anything and anyone. Draco sprinkled clever words around: a magical kind of catatonic stupor, caused by chronic depression, psychotic disorder, a history of traumatic brain injury and Merlin knows what else. Hermione brushed his words aside, she knew the clever terms very well herself, and went to research, test, analyze, cut, rub, mix, boil, brew and hope.

  
And Minerva just sat next to Severus and told him the news, asked for his forgiveness, scolded, praised, held his hand and brought chess with her. After six months of this bittersweet persistence, Snape began to react first to touch and voice, and then to chess. This gave the healers some confidence in themselves. However, Draco still found his foresight to be useless nonsense when it came to Snape.

*******

Lavender Brown flew into Hermione's office and, ignoring her friend's disgruntled murmur, began placing bottles on the shelves, stacking even piles of paper, rolling parchment rolls and washing out the lined coffee cups: Hermione's passion for dominating chaos was invincible.

  
It was a negative trait of all scientists: when they were too carried away by something, they completely did not notice the life around, forgetting to eat, sleep and meet with friends. Lavender and Draco had long been accustomed to their friend's quirks, so from time to time they simply invited themselves to her office or a small apartment in London and began their lecturing and caring.

  
"Come on, stand up, Pumpkin, break away from looking for an answer about the meaning of life, better ask Malfoy about it, and come with me: it's Friday night, what does that mean?"

  
“This means that I need to come up with the sixth of five uses of knotweed and finally finish the hemostatic potion according to the improved recipe,” Hermione muttered.

  
"No, Granger, that means you take off your juice-splattered yellow robe right now, stomp in the shower and go to Draco's Friday party with me, where we'll eat pizza, drink beer and listen to stupid Muggle music," Lavender put her hands on her hips and with a flick of her wand, she folded the mess on Hermione's desk into neat folders.

  
"Lav, go without me." Hermione lifted her head and rubbed her eyes. "I need just a bit more time."

  
“Yes, tell me that nonsense again,” Lavender snorted. "I could leave you to your devices and then at five in the morning you will walk home through the dull February slush, lock yourself in your bedroom, eat ice cream and complain to Crooks about how you can't do one thing or the other, then remember how Ron dumped you, then how you dumped Terry Booth, how that cute Muggle John proposed to you..."

  
"Josh."

  
“It doesn't matter, what matters is that I don’t want to hear this, so go ahead and get in the shower before Malfoy comes looking for us."

  
"And what about you and him? When will you stop arguing?” Hermione chided.

  
"It doesn't stop us from being friends and eating pizza on Fridays. Come on, Pumpkin, you need life to live, and not to bury yourself in papers, no one will appreciate it anyway. Your patients will definitely not get better if you gain nervous exhaustion."

  
"But..."

  
"No "buts", Granger, he'll get well!" He is as stubborn as you! Come on, come on, get out of here, I'm waiting for you in the corridor!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I'm in a desperate need of a beta for this fic and for my future SS/HG stories, so if there's some willing soul to suffer through my syntax, I'll be enormously happy :)

Lavender leaned across the table in an attempt to move the pizza box closer, knocked down beer cans and glasses of cider, and the whole cheerful installation soundly crashed to the floor. Draco winced, tossed his aristocratic lock aside, and without any magic reached for napkins: there was one unspoken rule at Friday weekend parties: no magic for the evening. Which, however, did not prevent Hermione from burying her nose into the filing of "The Practical _Potioneer_ " over the past few decades and going to the balcony to indulge in bitter dreams. Lavender glanced sideways at the balcony doors: despite February, there was almost tropical weather, orchids were blooming and a tame toad was croaking something in a bad voice, and all thanks to Neville, to whom Malfoy once entrusted his balcony after a binge and never regretted his decision.

  
“We need to talk,” Lavender said confidently, adding another portion of pizza to the outstretched plate.

  
"And we'd better hurry up until Hermy hears our conversation," Draco agreed, spreading a decent layer of garlic sauce on top. "What? It's tastier this way, just try it."

  
“Your unexpected passion for Muggle cooking is unbeatable, as far as I can judge."

  
"Come on, it's really delicious! So what about old good Hermy?"

  
"Look, if she hears what you call her, she will bite your head off and would not remember that you are friends."

  
“The main thing is that she gets out of her catatonic stupor, otherwise we will soon put her in the same room with Professor Snape, and she will not notice,” Draco grimaced.

  
"Yes." Lavender sighed. "Nobody knows what exactly it was between her and the professor, but I can make some assumptions. Our seventh year has always been something sacred, like a sacred cow in India, it is just not customary to talk about it. As if I would ask you what happened at Voldemort's orgies."

  
"A funny topic for pizza, of course, but I would tell you, Sugarplum, there was nothing good there, but also nothing so terrible that you might have heard gossips about and got nightmares after that. We exchanged information, then, as a rule, we had dinner, then they tortured the guilty ones, who didn't have any important information to the Lord, and then everyone went to catch Muggles, this was according to official information, according to unofficial information, we hid in some pub and drank until morning and wished the Lord to die."

  
"So why ..."

  
"What, Lav? Why didn't we protest? Why didn't we make a revolution? And why the Ministry kept twiddling their thumbs when it was necessary to strike? Why this bloody Order of the Fried Chicken Dumbledore was always so fond of, continued sitting idly and waiting for some unexpected miracle to happen? And why, pray tell, a whole crowd of adults and strong wizards were waiting for the grass to grow and hoping for a kid who would not find his own ass in the dark without the help of hands and a map to save the world?"

  
In times of being drunk, Draco, as a rule, began to get excited, began remembering the past, and joked stupidly, interspersing his aristocratic speeches with drunken swearing. He laughed at his own jokes and fell asleep on the floor by the sofa. Lavender did not blame him: everybody had their own coping mechanisms. 

  
“That's right, Draco, but I'm talking about Hermione now, for some reason it seems to me that you know a little more than I do."

  
"Oh, Lav, you know my godfather, he was famous for his optimistic nature and cheerful babbling, but yes, you're right, I noticed a couple of things. I know that he talked to Granger using a portrait of Headmaster Black, he gave her some instructions when it got really bad, and he probably sent food with the elves. They staggered through the woods for almost a year, they could hardly last that long on mushrooms alone. Then, it seemed, he supplied her with some kind of potion, when Potter was bitten by the Lord's snake."

  
“Hermione wanted to learn from the professor, to become his Apprentice,” Lavender said hesitantly. Draco nodded.

  
“Yes, they were working on Wolfsbane, on Bloodreplenishing, on Dreamless Sleep, and half of what she’s working on now was started by Snape. You know why she is rereading the "Potioneer" now.

  
“Oh, I do know Draco, I think she misses him in her own way, but she doesn’t show her mind. She is too stubborn and proud. Just like him.'

  
"True, but then February comes, and her shift is over, and she comes to Snape and kneels beside him and tells him some nonsense that only two of them can make sense about."

******

It was a dank blizzard evening in February, when the winter itself seemed take everyone into its endless frosty embrace. The weather was not very pleasant for walking in the winter forest, indeed, not to mention living in a tent and relying on endless warming charms. Hermione tried her best not to lose heart, coming up with some kind of positive affirmations, cheering herself up before the next hike for water in winter midnight, when even the stars were feeling cold.

  
The boys half-heartedly muttered that they didn't care about night shifts anymore... And pulled their thin blankets up to their noses. Hermione snorted, scolded them for their ugly behavior and hid in the woods. Freezing her fingers in the snow and throwing the pot in which the tea was supposed to be brewed, Hermione brushed away her angry tears and threw the pot into the nearest tree with a flourish: she wanted to curse everything, grab her simple belongings and go home, and damn this Great War, the Headmaster with his insane plans, Voldemort with his madness and the rest of the world.

  
She missed her parents, normal food, hot showers, a pleasant conversation, after all, they were just children, for what purposes should they throw their lives on the altar of dubious good?

  
Losing her head in despair, Hermione tightened her grip on her wand and Apparated away from the forest.

  
The portrait of Phineas Black had been shouting in the Headmaster's office for forty minutes, trying to get through to Snape, but the latter felt indignation in the security wards without prompting and ran out to meet the uninvited guest: frozen, wet and desperate Hermione Granger.

  
"Have you completely lost your mind, Miss Granger?" at the very gate, Snape snapped on Hermione, unceremoniously grabbing her by the wrist and dragging her towards the dungeons.

  
"It might be, it is just that I don't care anymore. I can't go on like this, Professor, I just can't!"

  
"And what, pray tell, would you have me do? Would you have me wave my wand, shower you with sparkles and make your life better?"

  
“Do what you want,” Hermione said listlessly. “I’m tired of this war, of losses, of this damn radio that Ron constantly listens to, of boys who argue a hundred times a day, not realizing that our future is doomed. I want to fall asleep and see my past life for at least a couple of hours. Now you call me a stupid girl, but I don't care, you may as well hand me over to the Death Eaters, they hold Mudbloods in high esteem nowadays, or so I heard."

  
Snape turned sharply and grabbed Hermione by the shoulders, intending to give her a good shake, but her completely empty eyes that had lost all their light made him stop.

  
"Come with me. We need to get out of here."

  
"Where are you taking me?" Hermione frowned as Snape pulled her away from Hogwarts.

  
"Why, miss Granger, I suppose you have changed your suicidal intentions, since you finger your wand so cautiously, well, then there is still hope."

  
"And yet, Professor, where are we going?"

  
“Fortunately for us, the Dark Lord’s paranoia has not yet reached its climax and Muggle Britain is still relatively safe, and I just happen to have a shack in some Muggle district. You need to warm up, drink tea, eat a thick stew with spices and forget about your idiot friends for a couple of hours, and I for that matter need to forget that the castle is full of people who want to finish me off. Would you like me to give you my subscription to "Practical Potioneer" for the last two decades? As a consolation prize, so to speak?"

  
Hermione, of course, nodded her head enthusiastically.

  
And now she was sitting on Draco's balcony, leafing through the pages of a magazine that had turned yellow with time and looking for answers only she knew. She and Severus Snape.


	4. Chapter 4

Snape's broken and abandoned house looked wretched only from the outside, it was a perfectly worked illusion to fool someone like obsessive neighbors or overly curious people of Voldemort, who suspected Snape of all mortal sins at once. Walls with crumbling whitewash, a withered herbal garden, mold everywhere - there hardly was anyone who wanted to make an acquaintance with this shack that would be closer than a wrinkled nose and a scornful grimace.

  
Both current residents of the house were more than happy with this state of affairs. Not to say, of course, that they settled here for a long time, but even in the most desperate times, everyone should have some kind of safe haven where you can relax, eat healthy food and put your thoughts in order.

  
“Stop talking nonsense, Miss Granger, I taught you for six years, one might even say six and a half, so I will never believe that you are not able to chop a simple carrot."

  
“I don’t know how to cook, Professor Snape,” Hermione whined, offended. Snape sighed, rolled his eyes, and put her wrist back into the correct position.

  
"Here, like this, lean your hand slightly towards yourself and watch for your fingers. If you hoped to skip cooking behaving like this, then I will accept no excuses: both you and your so-called friends need hot food."

  
“But what will I tell them when they see a pot of soup? And why "so-called"?"

  
"You might say that you robbed a roadside cafe. Potter and Weasleys are unlikely to be so meticulous, besides, today Minerva should visit them and convey my message, I don't think they will be worried about some kind of soup,'' Snape replied, stirring beans and tomatoes in a frying pan.

  
Hermione grew thoughtful for a moment. She had known about Snape's true loyalty for some time now, even before the death of the Headmaster and all this stupid Hunt for Horcruxes, half a year ago McGonagall told her about everything where Snape was concerned.

  
"Do you regret your decision to confide in Professor McGonagall?"

  
“No, contrary to the plans of our dearest Headmaster, neither I nor Potter are willing to die, and one loyal ally is better than a hundred unknown enemies,” Snape replied without hesitation. "Give me your carrots and take that onion from the bowl. Moreover, if I had not told Minerva about Dumbledore's intention, things would have turned bad for everyone. So, despite everything, all four faculties, and Heads of Houses, have called a truce and now we are fighting together against Carrows. Admittedly, they lack the Slytherin cunning mind, but with the support of Ravenclaw, our chances of winning are promising."

  
"And what about you? And why are you helping me?"

  
"Whether you like it or not, Miss Granger, we are all in the same boat: you are Muggle-born, the very embodiment of what Tom is fighting against, I am a turncoat, a traitor to his ideals, Minerva and the Order are the resistance, albeit sluggish, but still resistance and Potter, Merlin forgive me, is a sacrificial lamb. And to tell you the truth, I would not want unnecessary sacrifices in the name of anything. Enough of these Greater Good ideas, our only task now is to survive."

  
Hermione listened, feeling his words sink heavily in her soul, and stirred the soup. Once her world was white and black, and she believed that everything dear to her belonged to the Light, but the past year turned everything upside down, forcing her to reconsider her moral values.

  
“And then,” Snape continued as if nothing had happened, “You and I started working together on many promising potions and elixirs, I would not want to waste such potential."

  
"How selfish of you, Professor!" Hermione snorted.

  
“Perhaps, but Minerva has long persuaded me to take an Apprentice, and you, as I see, have decided not to become the next Minister of Magic."

  
"Oh, Merlin forbid! You know, it was a running joke in my family that Hermione will definitely become either the second Margaret Thatcher, or the first female Minister in the Wizarding World, but looking at everything that is happening around, I’m even glad that my parents are far away now and don’t see all this madness," Hermione turned to the window and sniffed sadly.

  
The prickly February drizzle was spiraling on the ground, the sky was covered with gray snow clouds, the wind was howling in the window cracks. The trees looked like skeletons in the deepening twilight, and it seemed that the sun would never appear from behind the clouds. It was uncomfortable and cold, even in the bright kitchen filled with the aromas of vegetable soup with spices, not to mention a wretched tent in the forest.

  
“You have nothing to blame yourself for, Miss Granger, your parents are alive, they are safe and you didn’t even have to Obliviate them. Perhaps I will sound cynical now, you know that I have always been famous for my reputation, but one way or another, you would grow cold with your family over time. If not this war had made you part ways with your parents, then the Wizarding World would have done its job, and the brightest witch Hermione Granger, simply, would have ceased to be mother's and father's little Pumpkin one day. It is much easier for you to know that everything is fine with them and they love you from afar than to see how every day the misunderstanding between you grows more and more."

  
"Has it ever happened to you personally?"

  
"My family has never been a model of integrity and close family ties, but I have seen how it happened to others."

  
“Oh yes, and that's why we're making soup in the kitchen, and Draco is singing along with Led Zeppelin in your shower on the second floor."

  
“I had to take action before you and Mr. Malfoy killed each other!" Snape threw up his hands in mocking pretending.

  
A few hours ago, the security wards of Snape's house buzzed, and Draco, haggard and somewhat dejected materialized in the kitchen, declaring from the doorway: "Godfather, please, do something, I can't do this anymore!" But the aforementioned godfather went to the pantry, so Malfoy had to listen to the answer of the angry and furious Granger, and that answer was hardly the one he had been hoping for.

  
"You! Traitor! Death Eater!"

  
“What an eloquent vocabulary you have, Granger, I must confess I'm flattered!"

  
"You are just an arrogant prick that hides under his papa's robes!"

  
"Here-here, children, stop bickering, quickly! My kitchen is full of volatile ingredients, and my house is warded so much that your spells will simply ricochet back at you."

  
“Oh, Professor Snape, I don’t need a wand to punch Malfoy in the nose!"

  
"She's crazy! Take her away, Professor!"

  
"Malfoy, to the shower, run! Granger, you come here to help me. We all need to calm down."

  
And now Hermione managed to calm down a little, Draco resentfully wrapped in a shabby bathrobe sat at the kitchen table and a fragrant soup was cooling before them.

  
“Both of you are victims of circumstance, Miss Granger. We are living in hard times and school feuds must be forgotten. In fact, apart from stupid prejudices, you are not enemies. Yes, there was name-calling, there was a broken nose, there was hatred..."

  
“There was no hatred,” the subdued students answered in chorus.

  
"All the better. Draco is living in a house full of Tom's people, I hardly manage to convince him of the importance of education for the new generation of young Death Eaters, you are hiding in the forest, and we rarely manage to give you even food and necessary potions. So, when this does not mean that Professor Snape has suddenly turned into a better version of himself and will bake buns for you on Sundays, I still want you to understand that we are wasting time in these unnecessary quarrels. We cannot afford such a luxury."

  
Snape paused, watching the blizzard ripping through the dusky gray outside the window, the snow covering the frozen ground with a blanket, and the stars shining in the sky.

  
"I want you to remember that February will definitely come to an end, no matter how cold and hopeless we are now, winter will pass. Don't give up hope! Now, spoon in hand and eat your soup!"

***

Hermione massaged her neck, trying to relieve the tension that had accumulated in her muscles during the day, turned off the lamp, and stood up from her chair: her shift was over, another day of clinical trials of the regenerating potion was unsuccessful. And that meant only one thing: she would go to Snape's ward, sit next to him, perhaps bring with her a cup of tea and try to calm the inner despair that squeezed her heart.

  
_"You said that February will definitely end, Professor, but I no longer have the strength to hope."_


	5. Chapter 5

When everything in his life seem to be going to Hell once again, Draco crossed out the failures with a bold red line and went to his parents to rest and remember. Wandering around the garden, drinking his Mother's signature peppermint tea, playing chess with his father, listening to the sighs of house elves: the Malfoy heir, oh grief, is still not married, and just enjoying the aromas of herbs filled with dew and sunlight - he remembered very well how every summer his godfather forced him to manually weed weeds and take care of plants, and then pass an exam on the knowledge of the magical properties of each flower, leaf or blade of grass.

  
Now, the setting sun painted the tall windows of the greenhouse in the colors of liquid gold, Baltic amber and bloody crimson, and outside it gave rise to February snow, adding a drop of grayness and despondency to the scattering of flowers.

  
“This is not why you fought, my son, to despair now,” Lucius began without further ado, sitting down beside him.

  
"Nobody despairs, Papa, it's just winter," Draco shrugged: he didn't want to complain to his parents, and his friends had their own troubles: Lavender spent days and nights in an orphanage for damaged children, trying to establish at least some kind of contact between them and the world around, and Granger experimented with potions and calculations all the time. It was unlikely that they could do anything to help him.

  
“I remember,” Lucius began from afar, “How in the last year Tom's tyranny reached such limits when it was no longer clear whether we were still alive or had already died and ended up in our personal hell without the right to redemption. Severus and I often lingered after meetings and came here to our conservatory to sip brandy and sit silently, watching the gray sky in the frosty windows."

  
"Yes," Draco sighed. "Those were strange times. It was cruel, dull, scary, but we continued to hope for something."

  
“Basically, of course, everyone hoped for the boy-who-lived and who was stuck in puberty, and for the noseless maniac, whose ideals we once believed so blindly,” Lucius explained with a sad smile.

  
"But why, Father? How is it that the best minds in Britain have bought into someone's charismatic eulogies?"

  
Lucius shrugged.

  
“We were eighteen years old when Tom started accepting the so-called “recruits”, tell me Draco, how much did you understand in life at that age? Britain's ideals were in decay, the country lacked a confident leader, the world was mired in strife and prejudice, we needed a new course and faith in a happy future. And the charismatic Tom gave us both. The rumors of robberies, violence and murders led by Death Eaters happened fourteen years later, at the very beginning everything had been different. Tom needed loyal followers, and we needed a sense of belonging. We brought him money and devotion, in return he gave us a sense of honor, an endless source of knowledge, the opportunity to express our opinion without fear of condemnation, the right have an opinion and, albeit strange, but still to have friendship. It's all nonsense that only Slytherins recruited to be the Death Eaters, no, there were enough youth with, as you call it, attention deficit, in other Houses as well."

  
Draco listened to his father's story, his mouth open with shock, and did not notice that the sun had long since disappeared behind the horizon, and night, impenetrable and viscous like tar, fell on the world.

  
“Even at Hufflepuff?

  
“My dear Draco, you predictably underestimate badgers, ask Miss Granger, she might give you a lecture on zoology. But yes, even among our most peaceful representatives there were those who were uncomfortable in the cozy society of inveterate altruists. Heirs of the oldest families, bestowed by their parents, half-breeds doomed to an arranged marriage, talented youth who were stubbornly underestimated - Tom had a place for everyone, and besides, a badger, when cornered, becomes much more dangerous than a snake. The snake, as a rule, attacks only in case of extreme danger."

  
"And you started to fight when Tom came back a second time," Draco sighed ruefully.

  
"We had no choice: our teenage nonsense had passed, we became more mature, in some ways more insane, we had a life outside the Lord's meetings, and we already knew very well that we had once made a mistake, for which many paid with their own life. Each fought to the best of his ability. Severus protected the children at all costs. Unable to speak out in the open, he gave you florid lectures, trying to protect you from our mistakes."

  
"He had brutal teaching methods," Draco agreed. "But he often used to say that if we were able to concentrate on the potion, not paying attention to his mockery, then we were ready to face the real life."

“Yes, better lost points and have a detention with the professor than suffer through a couple of rounds of Cruciatus."

  
"He fought, Father, fought to the last, so why..." Draco added almost in a whisper.

  
"He'll make it out," Lucius said confidently. "We are talking about Severus, after all."

"Father, it's been years, we have tried all known methods, but, you know the result."

  
"Healer Malfoy, don't make your father question your qualifications," Lucius chuckled. “Besides, if you have tried all the known methods, as you have deigned to say, it seems to me that you constantly forget about Miss Granger with her craving for the unknown. Wasn't it her who developed a permanent residency in the Restricted Section while still at Hogwarts? And I believe, she spent quite a long time in Australia, with her parents, exploring the magic of emotions among primitive tribes?"

  
"How can you be so sure?"

  
“Because someone has to, Draco, and you said yourself that Minerva, with her love for chess, managed to get through to Severus, didn't she?"

  
"What are you trying to say?"

  
"I think Severus deliberately avoids meeting reality face to face. Something happened during the Final Battle that triggered some kind of trigger in his tortured psyche, but we lost sight of it."

  
"That is, in order to come back to reality, he needs some kind of shock?"

  
“You could say that, you know better than I do the stories of bedridden Muggles getting to their feet when their loved ones were in mortal danger."

  
"I should tell Hermione," Draco muttered thoughtfully.

  
“Just be careful, she’s even worse than Severus when she’s burning with an idea.”

  
"Yeah, tell me about it!" Draco laughed.

  
“But kidding aside, son, tell me better about Miss Brown,” Lucius teased slyly.

  
Draco bowed his head; he was afraid of this conversation. They became close in their final year of school, starting their friendship based on a love for Divination, working together on the restoration of Hogwarts and sharing a passion for Healing. Lavender sported the title of school idiot and gossip girl for six years, but dark times changed her outlook on life. From a disheveled fashionista, she turned into a sensible young lady with excellent manners, critical thinking, devotion to friends and love for her work. Lavender possessed inexhaustible energy and simply sparkled with optimism, infecting with hope the gloomy by nature Draco and Hermione. She teased her friends, reminded them of the need to eat healthy and not forget to sleep at night, stayed up with them when they happened to work on a particularly insidious potion, told stories about children, lectured them on stubbornness and just took care about them when they forgot what care was for. Lavender had an amazing mixture of Hermione's courage and Molly Weasley's care, and Draco greatly appreciated it.

  
"She is dear to me, Papa, she is my friend, faithful and real."

  
"And Hermione?"

  
"And Hermione is my comrade-in-arms," Draco smiled.

  
"Then please let me know when you decide to make Miss Brown your Lady Malfoy," Lucius nodded. "Now let's go, your Mother is waiting for us for evening tea. And stop despairing, Draco, your godfather just doesn't know how to give up!"


	6. Chapter 6

When life becomes unbearable and it seems that tomorrow will be filled with the grayness of thunderclouds and the darkness of winter midnight, everyone should have a quiet haven, a secret abode, where they can come to their senses and put their thoughts and shattered nerves in order.

  
Hermione Granger, of course, was used to constant fighting with her life, steadfastly enduring any trials that a generous fate threw on her path, the Gryffindor lioness simply could not be broken by problems at work and lack of personal life, but sometimes, when February crept out of the dark gateway of winter, when her next the boyfriend ran away straight from the date, realizing suddenly that an ordinary woman was sitting in front of him instead of a famous brain of the Golden Trio, which he so longed to get into his paws, and when a promising potion turned into a fiasco, Hermione took her coat off the hook and determinedly left her apartment in London.

  
She loved the noisy bustle of Muggle neighborhood, cozy cafes, home-made pastry and ever-bustling neighbors who dreamed of teeing her and sneaking her up for another up-and-coming banker, engineer, or writer. She liked her apartment on the tenth floor, from where the beautiful sunset opened up, and Crooks also liked watching birds and cars running somewhere down below. It was her house, bought and equipped with such difficulty, her place where she felt safe.

  
She remembered how after the war everyone wandered, barely moving their feet one after the other, consumed liters of coffee, tried to pull themselves together and woke up from nightmares every night. Hogwarts was rapidly rebuilding, throwing all its strength into rallying the fragmented magical community. The experience was most often kept silent. Lavender fiddled with first-year newcomers, Draco often fell silent mid-sentence and peered into the void with an unseeing gaze, and then he began predicting about the missing, the dead and those who yearned for redemption. And nobody ever interrupted him. Hermione, for her part, ran into the Slytherin dungeons and wandered there for a long time in saving silence, her own thoughts were deafening. She remembered.

  
Hermione could not give a clear answer to the question: what was it between her and Snape. Alike attracts alike, she thought with a crooked grin, and her thoughts fled into the past, so close, but no less painful.

  
She had long guessed the tragic destiny of Professor Snape, having managed to put two and two together. There was no point in blaming Dumbledore for his stupid cunning plans, just as there was no point in blaming Snape for all the sins of the world. Oddly enough, McGonagall intervened in the judgmental thinking of the Gryffindors and told Harry all the ins and outs that Dumbledore had so carefully hidden from the world and which the Potions Master confessed to her. Harry swore terribly, brandished his wand, blushed and rushed into battle, but the Head of Gryffindor had seen many things in her lifetime to be afraid of childish tantrums. It would be much wiser, Mr. Potter, to cooperate with Professor Snape and with me if we want to win this war and not become puppets in the next unclean hands. Harry lowered his eyes and fell silent, resentful. And Hermione ran into the dungeons to ask for cooperation.

  
Of course, Snape was hardly overjoyed when the Gryffindor swot fell on his head and gleefully chattered about her willingness to help and promised to not even ask more than three questions a day. In the end, everyone should have someone to feel safe with and take care of, someone who would say that everything would be fine when life was rushing to hell. Not that Snape needed reassurance, but even Voldemort had Nagini and Albus had his lemon drops.

  
So they started working together. Snape wanted to make it, he tried to transfer his knowledge, he tried to help. Miss Granger, to his unspeakable surprise, did not irritate him, quite the opposite. He tormented her with endless criticism and offensive remarks, he left her the most difficult potions, and he himself went to see to Hogwarts affairs, he squeezed every nervous bit out of Hermione, as if testing her strength, and she stayed silent and smiled. The silence drove Severus crazy. He began to teach her Occlumency and combat spells, which stand at the intersection of the Dark Arts. Hermione didn't ask him any questions. She seemed to notice much more than he himself could ever know.

  
The first six months were spent in intense attempts to find common ground, at the end of the seventh month, Severus came to the conclusion that he and Miss Granger had much more in common than it seemed at first glance.

  
On that day, she brewed a banal Skelegro, he scowled at the pathetic mountain of parchments and kept looking for an excuse to throw an essay checking upon Hermione. After all, she often helped him with paperwork, when he managed to harass her already strained nerves with his grumbling.

Skelegro was a complex potion in its simplicity. The minimum of ingredients, the primitiveness of the potion, but the loss of concentration could lead to serious injuries, and Miss Granger from the very morning was suspiciously quiet and thoughtful, answered Severus in monosyllables and did not react to his sarcastic remarks at all. Severus pretended to be engrossed in his essays while he glanced at Hermione from the corner of his eye.

  
He knew that life in the forest had completely worn her out, that Potter and Weasley did not help, but only exacerbated the situation with their childish stubbornness, that depression pulled Miss Granger into its dark embrace more and more with each passing day, and that her parents had to urgently leave Britain, and that she, so imperceptibly for herself, was left all alone. The future terrified her, but she held on with all her might. Potter and Weasley knew about their partnership with Snape, and Draco almost driven to despair also sought the company of his godfather, which did not strengthen Hermione's friendship with Ron and Harry. Ron lost his temper, called her a traitor, Harry muttered that the Slytherins could not be trusted, and Hermione fell even more into the abyss of anxiety and hopelessness. She was silent and became quieter and more desperate.

  
Snape was fearfully aware that he liked their forced cooperation, her silent presence, her light-hearted jokes, her deep reasoning over a cup of tea, Hermione's venomous responses when his sarcasm became completely unbearable, and naive assurances that everything would be fine.

  
A few days earlier, Snape had improved his security wards to allow Hermione entrance into his house at any time of the day and gave her the keys, hiding concern behind a grunt.

  
“I would feel more assured if you come into this house from time to time when things get really hard. The house will stay yours if something happens to me. Nobody will look for you here."

  
"What are you saying, Professor Snape?" Hermione asked alarmingly, but he made a warning gesture and told her to return to the potions.

  
And now she was stirring the Skelegro with a trembling hand, nervously biting her lip and never noticing that the cauldron had melted from the left edge, that the stabilizing moonstone pollen was still lying untouched on the edge of the table, and if she did not correct her mistake immediately, there would be an explosion.

  
Snape jumped to his feet in the blink of an eye as his Protego held Hermione in an impenetrable dome, protecting her from splashes and red-hot brew, he himself shoved the spoiled cauldron aside and sank to the floor next to terrified Hermione.

  
She sobbed and crept closer like a frightened child and buried her face in Snape's shirt.

  
“I ruined the potion, Professor, I ruined everything.

  
"This is nothing, Pumpkin, really nothing, the main thing is that you are not hurt."

  
She clung to him like a lifeline, sniffled and couldn't stop her sobs. And he awkwardly hold her closer and whispered all kinds of soothing nonsense that she was safe, and nothing terrible had happened, and that everything was over, and that he was there. He could hardly believe what he was saying, but both of them were so desperate for a saving lie that it hurt.

  
"This is wrong, Hermione, that's highly inappropriate..." Snape muttered awkwardly, kissing the top of her head.

  
"I don't care, I don't even know if we will live to see spring, so what's the point of ignoring your feelings?" Hermione replied fervently.

  
"Probably nothing wrong. And you must remember that I won't let you die,” Snape pressed firmly and pressed a kiss to her lips.

  
And then there was that thrice-damned Battle, and Snape threw himself in front of the the spells of the others, saving her from the Dark Curses, because he could not do otherwise. After all, Severus Snape had always been a man of his word.

  
And now Hermione was enthusiastically tinkering in the garden, which she personally planted around Severus's house, the same stew with vegetables that he once taught her how to cook was now boiling in the kitchen, and she felt safe here.

  
And she missed Severus to the point of exhaustion.

  
Hermione brushed aside the angry tears and returned to her war with weeds.


	7. Chapter 7

Hermione bit her lip nervously and glanced at her watch: the hands were pointing at half past four in the morning, and she desperately kept losing the last remnants of hope she could muster. Days followed days, winter turned more and more severe, and February became more and more relentless, the walls of the Ward of Healing of Victims of the Dark Curses pressed down on her, this did not add her desperate heart any more optimism.

  
Draco was trying to instill a confidence in his friend, but he hardly ever been an optimist.

  
“Understand, Pumpkin, you need a source of stress, then everything will fall into place, as it happened with Neville's parents,” Draco admonished, perching right on top of the unfinished research folder in Hermione’s office.

  
“Since when did the blockhead Longbottom become just Neville for you?” Hermione muttered, crossing out her recent research with a stroke of the Muggle pen, the research which again did not bring her any positive results.

  
"Ever since he and I got completely drunk at Potter's wedding, then in the middle of the night we came here, played with some promising potions, and then Neville suggested that I use the rare belladonna pink-leaved as a remedy for depression, and that helped my father... And then there was Occlumency..."

  
“I won't use Legillimency on Professor Snape! I've told you a thousand times that in the case of Neville's parents the risk was justified!"

  
"Of course, for more than twenty years they have been playing the role of brainless vegetables, while the dear professor..."

  
"Shut up! Just shut up, Draco!" Hermione snapped angrily, jumping to her feet. "Do you think I am a soulless bitch, obsessed with the salvation of all the unfortunate and ready for the good of one to sacrifice the lives of others? You're confusing me with Dumbledore, Draco!"

  
Draco wearily rubbed the bridge of his nose, straightened the file with the reports and went up to Hermione, carefully looked into her eyes, and tucked the stray curl behind her ear.

  
"It's just that, Sugarplum, I shouldn't have said that, but you are well aware of your stubbornness, as well as of your unwillingness to listen and hear anyone who disagrees with you. I am not asking you to risk his life, I am asking only to think. It hurts me, Lavender, and even Potter and the Weasel to see how you waste yourself with every passing day. Think about it, Pumpkin, for the sake of us all."

  
"Draco, don't you dare call Ron ..."

  
"Okay, okay, he's not a Weasel, whatever you say," Draco grinned at her and left the room.

  
Hermione could only frown and looked away, doomed. Whatever one may say, but Draco was right in everything: she really brought herself to exhaustion, fearing to face the truth: Severus Snape made his own choice, preferring this strange existence in which there was no place for potions or Hogwarts, neither the students, nor, even more so, the Unbearable Know-it-all with a shock of brown hair.

  
“I'm losing my mind,” Hermione whispered ruefully.

  
"No, child, you are not. You are lonely, you are confused, you are scared, but despair is a bad helper in doomed situations," Minerva McGonagall consoled her, walking into the room.

  
"Professor McGonagall, what should I do?" Hermione pleaded, moving her wand and sending the ill-fated folder to the far drawer and asking the local house elves for two cups of tea and gingerbread.

  
Minerva walked around the office, pensively examining the even rows of awards that Hermione, Draco, and Lavender have received over the past few years, noting to herself that her students have done more for the Magic Community than the entire Ministry put together. Children, nevertheless, for her they will forever remain children, helped everyone, demanding nothing in return, but who will help them?

  
Meanwhile, Hermione took the order from the elf and held out one of the cups to McGonagall.

  
“I would advise you not to underestimate Severus, not to lecture Draco's with unnecessary lectures on morality, and to listen to your heart. It is unlikely that Professor Snape would trade the opportunity to finally live freely and make his own choice for this stupid existence in a hospital room."

  
“But Professor McGonagall!

  
“Also, I would advise you to go teach Potions at Hogwarts, but it seems this place is waiting for its true professor. Give him a chance, Hermione, and give yourself one too."

  
"And if I fail?" Hermione whispered, lowering her head.

  
Minerva smiled sadly and stepped closer and took Hermione's hands in hers.

  
"Since when my Gryffindors are afraid of losing? Since when don't they face a challenge?"

  
"I've lost so much already, professor..."

  
"This is not a reason to say goodbye to your life, Hermione. We all have lost something, but have managed to gain a lot in return. Take the first step and remember that Severus, even desperate, is far more cunning and smart than we might give him credit to."

And now Hermione was looking in vain into the veil of fog behind which Snape's most precious memories were hidden. Her fingers, gripping the wand, turned white with tension, droplets of blood glistened on her bitten lip, the ticking of a clock rang in her ears like a bell, but the shields did not budge.

  
If neither Dumbledore nor Voldemort managed to unravel Professor Snape's secrets, then could she really do that? Yes, society considered her an outstanding witch and a very talented healer, but she knew so little about her professor that it was simply ridiculous to hope for her own omnipotence.

  
She ran forward, clothes clinging to branches, feet slipping in the mud or hitting driftwood that Snape's clever maze of consciousness had built against the unexpected troublemakers.

  
Every now and then Hermione caught flashes of unknown spells, every now and then the wind carried the smell of herbs and sounds of other people's voices, like echoes of forgotten memories. Here and there vague shadows flickered, taking on the outline of the silhouette of her professor, and fading in the next second.

  
It seemed that Hermione had been wandering in the Halls of his Mind for ages, unable to find a way out or find a solution, when suddenly the fog cleared away, and her feet led her into a clearing with an almost withered willow tree in the center.

  
It was warm and damp, it smelled of rotten leaves, mushrooms and pine needles, somewhere, it seemed, a fire was crackling. Hermione closed her eyes for a moment: she remembered how she once told Snape that her "Promised Land" would be a place where eternal October would reign, trees and pines would grow, the rain would hum its song to the still trees and a fire would burn. Stumbling and nearly falling, she rushed forward.

  
“Severus! Professor Snape!

  
He sat at the roots of a willow tree and made charcoal sketches on a piece of paper that had turned yellow with age. Hearing her call, he did not even budge, and when she finally ran and almost collapsed on her knees in front of him, he just glanced sideways and hissed angrily:

  
"What are you doing here? Why did you come to torture me even after death?"

  
"What are you saying? I am alive, Severus, we won the war!" Hermione began hurriedly, stepping closer, but he threw out his hand to prevent her movements.

  
"Go away! I promised I would not let you die, I swore that I would help Potter and I would not let Minerva down, but I didn’t keep a single promise! Why did you come here?"

  
"I came to help... You helped us all, without you we would have lost! Harry managed at the last moment and defeated Voldemort. And we went to help you and Minerva, Severus, wait, listen!"

  
"You're lying... Lying! The Pumpkin is dead! Go away!"

  
And just as Hermione reached for Severus to touch his hand, a flash of magic blinded her and threw her back out into the real world. Draco, who had been watching Hermione's silent attempts to reach the professor for an hour and a half, rushed to her.

  
"What, Sugarplum, what is it?"

  
"Draco... oh, Draco, he thinks I'm dead," Hermione whispered and sobbed into Draco's neck.


	8. Chapter 8

" _Draco, he thinks I'm dead_ " Hermione's desperate statement seemed to have no real motive, therefore, having seated his friend at the table and calming her down in every possible way, Draco scowled disappointingly at his godfather who had fallen into his stupor again and went to Lavender to ask for advice: he still felt powerless when it came to amorous affairs.

  
Lavender Brown enthusiastically leafed through a motley selection of Muggle books on fairy tale therapy and at the same time stirred some dark green concoction in a small cauldron, she just dismissed Malfoy's mute question:

  
"What? I had forty-five minutes, unexpected free time, mind you, so I thought, I'd combine something pleasant with something useful: I will select materials for further work with the kids and make myself a regenerating hair mask.

  
"Love, are you a witch, or are you not?" Draco rolled his eyes mockingly, but Lavender just brushed it off.

  
"What would you understand in natural remedies, Malfoy. That's not why you came to me, so tell me what happened?"

  
"I know nothing about natural remedies..." Draco hesitated. "I need your advice. I talked to Herm, explained to her the whole principle of a stressful situation, and advised her to try Legilimency on a godfather."

  
Lavender very carefully put the wooden spoon aside and turned to Draco.

  
"Why don't I like your tone, Malfoy?"

  
Draco grimaced, walked over to the wall, and plopped down into the nearest chair.

  
"Because I am an idiot, Sugarplum."

  
"Well, and this is news. But still?"

  
“I don’t know what Herm specifically saw, but she told me that the godfather considered her dead, and I won’t understand how this could have happened. Doesn't it seem overly dramatic?"

  
Lavender looked thoughtfully at the window, behind which the furious February snowstorm was beating through the windows, and began to speak, not particularly addressing anyone.

  
“It’s time for you and me to stop being surprised, Draco, we have been working with traumas and their consequences for a lot of years, so we know very well what role the trigger sometimes plays. On that crazy day, it was generally impossible to understand where the forces of Light were, and where the Eaters were. We all ran and ran through mud, blood, and spell flares. Everything crumbled, the enemies pressed on us, and we tried to withstand. I don’t even remember what time of day it was, and you are saying that the Professor seemed to believe his own triggers. It is quite possible that you might be right."

  
“I remember how his protective shields wavered, and how he rushed across to the Death Eaters."

  
“And at that moment Voldemort announced that Harry Potter was dead. Hermione missed the blow, and that nasty Dolokhov spell that almost killed her after the Battle in the Ministry flew into her."

  
Draco sighed deeply and covered his face with his hands.

  
"We are idiots, Lavender, even if we claim to be psychologists. Imagine the situation the godfather was in: he heard that Potter was dead, we lost, and the next second Herm lost her consciousness, and then the rest of the Death Eaters rushed at us. Of course, he did the only thing he could in that situation."

  
"He hid behind the shields of Occlumency."

  
"Exactly. And then, suddenly, he feels that the Pumpkin is alive, he feels her magic, senses her emotions, but the last thing he remembers is how I pulled her away from the debris of the ceiling that had collapsed on our heads."

  
“But this is our much needed stressful situation, Malfoy,” Lavender suddenly exclaimed, “they can manage!"

  
However, Hermione did not share the opinions of her friends. Severus' cold detachment, his distant gaze, hidden fear splashing in the impenetrable pools of his eyes. Someone could call her a pathetic fool, but she knew the truth, and the truth hurt.

  
The night before that damned Battle, that claimed the lives of so many people dear to her, and turned the survivors into pitiful shells of once happy people, she and Severus spent the last peaceful evening by the burning fire in his Slytherin chambers. She didn’t want to speak or confess possible powerlessness, just as she didn’t want to make loud promises or ardent confessions in illusory feelings. Everything that connected her and Snape was too fragile to even try to give it a name.

  
She watched for a long time as the fire licked the tar drops from the juniper branches, which they, obeying the ancient tradition, lit today to ward off evil spirits, and then whispered into the darkness as if fearing to say the words out loud:

  
“I’m scared, Severus, not that we might die, but how meaningless we have lived our lives."

  
“Only fools or the dead are not afraid, Hermione, fortunately, we are neither the first nor the second,” Severus replied after some silence and, stirring up the heat in the fireplace, moved closer. “I won't let you die, Pumpkin, I swear.

  
Angry, annoyed tears choked Hermione now, but she knew that tears could not help her grief, so sleepless nights, meaningless calculations, and that damned February with its cold desperate thoughts, penetrating her heart, awaited her.

  
She hadn't expected a miracle, magical oaths were too serious a thing to dare not take into account, and Occlument, like Severus, could well have made the current state of affairs his conscious choice. He believed that he had broken his oath to Hermione and could not manage to save Harry, therefore his magic demanded its price.

  
Hermione put aside the cup of chamomile tea that Draco had thoughtfully left for her, and began to prepare the ingredients for the Skelegro, just to keep her hands busy and calm her heavy thoughts.

  
Severus got out of his stupor and began to wander through the corridors, probably somewhere in the Halls of His Mind, he still thought that he was patrolling the corridors of Hogwarts, therefore, hearing his usual steps, Hermione was not surprised. In any case, he made progress: he reacted to sounds, to touch, played chess with Minerva, looked out for something in the windows covered with frosty patterns, dutifully accepted potions and draughts from Draco, ate his soup, and drank his black coffee. Everything was familiar, except for one thing: Professor Snape was just a shell of himself, a barely audible echo, a barely visible reflection of the past. But he froze in the doorway as if he was consciously watching Hermione's work, and for a moment it seemed to her that everything was as before, she was being trained under his patronage and no despair or dull annoyance was chocking her heart.

  
And Snape saw a tired woman immersed in herself, who no longer saw any reason to move on as if she were walking in pitch darkness through a dense forest and understood that she would never find a road to the sun. She kept glancing at the crazy February blizzard that enclosed everything in an impenetrable white cocoon and did not at all notice that her cauldron melted, that she forgot to add moonstone pollen, and that an explosion was about to happen.

  
But could this be possible? Snape clearly remembered the lifeless body of Hermione, the desperate Draco trying to hide her from the debris, and the wild boundless emptiness inside his soul: he had lost, he had failed to keep his vow.

  
A crack suddenly appeared in the cold that bound his heart. As water rips open the ice crust, so a barely audible timid voice of hope made itself known. Maybe a miracle happened at the last moment, and they managed to save Hermione?

  
Snape did not have time to come up with the idea: his reflexes worked instantly and the skillful Protego enveloped Hermione in an impenetrable shield, saving her from the hot splashes of the exploded potion.

  
And again, as many years ago, she clung to him like a lifeline, still not believing, not fully understanding what was happening, she sniffled and still could not stop her sobs. And he awkwardly put his arms around her and whispered all kinds of nonsense: that she was safe, and nothing terrible had happened, and that everything was over, and that he was there. He himself could hardly believe what he was saying, but Hermione was in his embrace again. And she was alive.

  
"Pumpkin... Oh, Pumpkin."


	9. Epilogue

For eight years Snape has been surrounded by darkness, crushing his temples, oozing from cracks, blocking the light. The ground was slipping away from under his feet, and grayness thickened over the world, the starless sky looked reproachfully at those who remained below.

  
It seemed to him that he had been wandering in the dark for eternity and trying to catch at least a spark, to hear the echo of unearthly magic. Her magic.

  
He knew that he had not kept his oath, he knew that magic would definitely demand its price, he knew that there would be no return from this man-made hell, but from time to time he could hear a barely audible voice, almost a whisper, calling his name. And the voice gave him warmth, as if the sun rose for a moment in his darkened world, forever chained in an icy embrace.

  
Some part of his consciousness, not clouded with a curse, tried to shout, stubbornly telling him that he had made a terrible mistake, that not everything was lost, that she was alive and was waiting for him on the other side, somewhere where the sun was shining. His Pumpkin.

  
Thoughts in his head were deafening, but his magic responded to her magic, calling him away from the forest, towards the light, where it was warm, where there was no scalding cold, where the sea was rustling with waves.

  
And then her voice spoke to him, talked about something almost in a whisper, begged him to return, to hear her pleas, to forgive himself. And from this voice, his heart sank and he wanted to run forward, headlong and into her embrace.

  
_"How could you? Tell me, Severus, how dare you leave me? Eight years, two months, seven days... I miss you so much, you great bastard. Please, Severus. Come back. To me"._

  
And now he continued to hear her parting words, sitting in a hospital ward with sterile white walls and looking blankly at his godson:

  
"Draco? What? Where..."

  
"It's okay, godfather, you're safe," Draco replied with a beaming smile.

  
"Yes, about that, actually..."

  
“And before you start promising me detentions with washing cauldrons, I assure you, Granger is fine too, she is with Lavender, they have a scheduled examination of the other patients, she will return in the late afternoon. Now, I must examine you. And yes, someone really wants to see you too."

  
And before Severus could finally orient himself in what was happening, a worried Lucius entered the room, followed by Minerva, who almost rushed in, not even hiding her delight.

  
He was surrounded by friends and former students, it seemed that all of St. Mungo had come running to look at the professor who had miraculously emerged from his stupor, but the main person was still absent.

  
Lucius asked Severus about everything, stayed silent for a long time, briefly outlined the post-war situation in the wizarding world, and invited Severus to a dinner party.

  
Minerva did not bother herself with useless questions, instead burst into tears and hugged Severus like a mother hugs a prodigal son, and in parting told him that his position in Hogwarts was still waiting for its true teacher.

  
Draco did not become shy in front of his godfather and former Head, and without unnecessary details, he honestly laid out his version of what had happened to Snape and fled for a planned detour, leaving his godfather tormented by pangs of conscience.

  
Later in the afternoon, arrived Lavender Brown who was intending to become Lady Malfoy one of these days.

  
"I'm so glad to see you, Professor! And don’t frown at me here, I’ve spent the last eight years with you, I replaced Draco and Hermie, I consoled them and came up with new treatments for you, and when that didn’t help, I brewed your signature tea with bergamot and lemongrass. Not so bad for a Gryffindor fool, right?"

  
"Miss Brown," Snape began, but Lavender waved her hand at him and winked.

  
"She will be back. Wait a couple more hours, she will definitely return. And don't frown. Many years have passed, but wizards live a long life, and with modern research in the field of wizarding medicine, we have every chance of gaining immortality. Look out the window: February is almost over."

  
And she left, leaving Snape to contemplate her words. Lavender was right, as was Draco and Minerva and even Lucius, but so many years have passed, what should he tell her?

  
Hermione returned closer to midnight, entered the room, and stopped in confusion, losing her step.

  
Snape wanted to rush to her this instant, to scoop her in his arms, to hide her from everything and everyone that dares cause her pain. He closes his eyes instead. And then there was the pain. Pain, suffering, aching, and agony, his very soul bled from his craving for her. And as the first snowdrop breaks through the icy ground, so the careful touch of her hand gave him hope.

  
“Severus… Oh, Severus."

  
"You are alive..."

  
"I am. You kept your vow, you managed to save me. Everything is ok."

  
“No, no, Hermione, we've lost eight years, don't you understand?"

  
"Hush, Severus. It's okay now. We won the war, we will be able to overcome the echoes of this darkness."

  
"So, where shall we go now?"

  
"February is over, Severus," Hermione smiled, snuggling closer. "Remember, you always told me that April taught us to rejoice and laugh, May taught us to love. January - to start a new life, and February - to wait... We have done our waiting."

"Let's go home, Hermione."

Hand in hand they left St. Mungo to enter the first spring dawn and new life. February was over.

  
Spring has come.

End. 


End file.
